Considerate Bronwen

On Sunday as I was busy cleaning the kitchen and chatting on the phone Bronwen was busy trying to force feed the cats. It is one of her favorite things to do. She fills up each of the cat food bowls so that they are brimming with kibble. Then she scours the house for each cat.

“Boo Boo Kitty, where are you?” she sing songs through each room.

When she finds the cat, she will place the over-filled bowl under his/her chin and will proceed to yell at them.

“Eat, Boo Boo Kitty. Eat your food,” she shouts.

This is usually when I pipe in “Stop yelling at the cats, Bronwen,” at which point I hear her whispering loudly, “Eat your food, Boo Boo Kitty!”

On Sunday as I was cleaning up I saw her fill up the three bowls and take them to the living room. But I must have been busy because I missed when she slid the 15 gallon container of cat food across the kitchen floor, through the dining room and into the living room.

I hung up the phone and continued to do the dishes. It was then that I noticed a distinct lack of Bronwen noise. I listened carefully. She was whispering,

“Eat your food, Fay.”

I walked into the living room to ensure that Bronwen wasn’t forcing Fay's head into his feeding bowl (she likes to do that too.) I stopped dead in the doorway. Here is what I saw: Bronwen was standing next to the couch with the open cat food container on her left and the couch on her right and an empty cup in her hand. Fay was sitting on the couch on top of a crumpled up blanket that I had tossed aside after my nap earlier, surrounded by mounds of cat food. It was heaped up around his legs and in front of his face. It spilled over the blanket onto the couch, into the cracks between the seat cushions. Fay looked like a Sphinx, long lost in a secret underground cave, surrounded by gold coins, piled as high as his head.

I wanted to laugh; I know that she was just trying to enable Fay to eat without having to get up. But it was a mess and I was angry that I had to clean it up.

“Go to you room, Bronwen,” I growled. She laughed at me. “Seriously, go to your room!”

I took the cup out of hand and sent her stalking out. Only then did I start laughing.

Learning to Let Go

I had a great conversation with my dad last Monday that resulted in my experiencing a revelation. We were discussing the challenges of raising an extremely independent and headstrong two year old. I was expressing my frustrations; she always wants to do things her way, and we are usually not moving in the same direction. But by the end of the conversation I came to realize that

1. It is good to have an independent child. Isn’t that the ultimate goal of any parent? As much as we want to have our little babies stay little babies for ever, our goal should be to provide a child with the knowledge, skills, practice and support needed to go out into the world and be successful. Plus, someday I want to have the house back to ourselves!

And

2. I should be leveraging her need to be independent to help her to learn skills and to help me get things do too!

So, last Tuesday morning I tried an experiment based on my new ideas (and some feedback from my dad) about helping Bronwen and I get things done. Most morning recently have been a struggle, I fight her to get dressed. She fights me on everything. So I tried this.

I gave her a new diaper, outfit, socks and shoes and asked her to get dressed and walked out of the room. I went back to doing my hair in the bathroom. Every few minutes she would say, “Mommy, help.” And I would help her with the crooked sock, or the pesky latches on her shoes, but then I would go right back to the bathroom. A few minutes later she walked into the room fully dressed, proud of herself and ready to go to school. AND, I was ready to go too! It was perfect.

As a parent, I am always in a hurry. My taking some extra time, I can let her try, make mistakes, and try again, without being totally freaked out, and stressed about getting out of the door. Now, Bronwen can dress herself, fetch a juice box, climb into her car seat, put on her own jacket, and open the front door (that one is a little scary), all things that make my life easier and help her to be better prepared to go out into the world someday.

Foul Weather

I think I turned into an old grouchy grandpa this morning when Piper’s school was cancelled for the tiniest little bit of ice, which subsequently melted by 9am.

“When I was a kid, we had to shovel our way out to the school bus, the snow would be over our heads. We never got a day off of school, no sir,” I lectured her as I was dressing for work.

“We would be half dead before we got to the bus. And I am pretty sure those buses has chains on the tires. And there was no heat in the bus; we would huddle together for warmth. But did we complain? No. You kids these days don’t have to deal with any hardship. Everything is done for you. How are you ever going to learn to survive in the cold, if you never have to go out into it?”

Fortunately Piper ignored my huffing and puffing and stomping around the house. But seriously, when did I turn into my own grandpa?

The End of an Era

Today I went to the dentist and got my very first filling. I should be happy that it took 32 years before I got my first cavity, but I am kind of ticked off that I got one at all.

After I left the dentist, my face fully paralyzed, drooling all over myself, I had to go straight to work to a meeting where I had to talk a lot. It was embarrassing, and sort of funny, in an embarressing way. Now the numbness is gone, but my whole mouth aches. This sucks. I am going to make it up to myself later on by chewing on some aluminum foil to see if you really do get a shock. I always felt left out when all the other kids got shocked, but not any more!